


Chalice

by sparklyslug



Series: a spell that can't be broken (one drop should be enough) [4]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Tipsy witches, Underage Drinking, Weird Sisters, biblical smack talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklyslug/pseuds/sparklyslug
Summary: Water into wine,” Prudence snorts, “like it’s hard.”“Like it’s some kind of miracle,” Agatha sneers.“Like we don’t have more power in one finger than the false god’s followers have in their entire book of lies,” Dorcas says reverently.“Well to be fair,” Sabrina says, in the same solemn tone, “the cup is doing most of the work.”





	Chalice

**Author's Note:**

> (alternate title: red wine I just wanna kiss girls, girls, girls)
> 
> Part of a series of unconnected Prudence/Sabrina fics based on Witches of Inktober prompts by @stevieraedrawn. Fics can be read in any order.

Water into wine,” Prudence snorts, “like it’s _hard_.”

“Like it’s some kind of _miracle_ ,” Agatha sneers.

“Like we don’t have more power in one finger than the false god’s followers have in their entire book of lies,” Dorcas says reverently.

“Well to be fair,” Sabrina says, in the same solemn tone, “the cup is doing most of the work.”

“Rude,” Prudence laughs, fully breaking the moment as Agatha and Dorcas make identical noises of protest. “ _Terribly_ rude, half-breed. Pass it back.”

Sabrina obliges, handing off the heavy pewter chalice to Prudence and tipping her head back to rest against the tree the four of them are leaning against.

They’d settled under it in a triumphant heap, their victory tour celebrating the spell’s success having taken them away from the campus of the Academy and well out into the woods. It’s late, and they have been enjoying _quite_ a bit of wine, but it hasn’t occurred to Sabrina to be afraid. That’s the thing, when she walks with the Weird Sisters, no matter where they are, she knows there’s not a thing out there that’s more terrifying than the four of them.

Even when Dorcas is busy braiding and rebraiding Agatha’s hair, and Agatha is having some trouble with the buckles of her high-heeled boots, and Prudence has a rich flush high on her cheekbones and a wide smile on her face.

Sabrina closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the soft breeze, which carries notes of apple and warm cinnamon even though it’s warm enough to almost be truly summer. Greendale’s like that, one of the things that Sabrina really loves about it, how even in June—

“Are you falling _asleep_?” Prudence says, loud and close to Sabrina’s ear. “So rude! Rude again!”

“I was not!” Sabrina laughs, shoving at Prudence’s arm, a little of the wine splashing out of the chalice, to delighted hoots from Agatha and Dorcas. The dark red practically vanishes against the deep purple of Prudence’s dress, but stripes dark patterns over Sabrina’s tan skirt.

Prudence leans in close, her shoulder knocking against Sabrina’s, and presses her hand over the stain. Sabrina barely even has time to feel the wine seep through, to register any dampness against her skin, before Prudence’s hand is sweeping down over her thigh. A firm, business-like touch, and just forceful enough to send sparks firing all the way up Sabrina’s spine.

Just like that, the stain is gone.

“Just like that,” Sabrina says, giggling, even as she wraps both arms around herself to try and suppress a shiver.

“Just like _magic_ ,” Prudence says, in what is unfortunately recognizable as her oh-wow-magic Sabrina impersonation.

“No, it’s a _miracle_ ,” Agatha seems to give up on her shoes and simply kicks her feet out at Sabrina with a pout. Sabrina ignores her. “Come on, my turn with the _miracle_ cup, stop hogging it.”

“It’s literally bottomless, you moron,” Prudence says.

“ _You’re_ literally bottomless,” Sabrina says with a snort.

Prudence gasps in outrage, and Sabrina yelps as she’s suddenly shoved to the ground, wine splashing out of the chalice in her hands as she gets a lap full of claws-out Prudence. Agatha and Dorcas collapse into a useless heap of laughter above her head, calling out encouragement.

“My bottom is _exquisite_ ,” Prudence says above her, Sabrina managing to get her hands around both wrists before Prudence can put those talons to any kind of use, “as well you know!”

“Okay, yes— _ow_ — yes,” Sabrina wheezes with laughter, trying to get her breath with an angry witch sitting on her stomach and breathing the smell of sweet spiced wine into her face. “you’re right, you’re right! I’m— big fan. Huge fan! Love it.”

“ _Exquisite,”_ Prudence repeats, mollified enough to sit back, clambering off Sabrina with nothing near her usual grace.

Sabrina stares up at the branches above her, head delicately spinning, and contemplates whether it’s worth it to sit back up. She picks up the chalice again, watching as it refills itself with the rich, dark red wine. Which had started the day as fairly unremarkable and extremely unpalatable academy tap water.

This whole thing had started with an argument and a dare that had got a little bit out of hand, as was usually what happened between Prudence and Sabrina. A debate about alchemical principles had turned into theories about magicked items, had led to Sabrina remembering (with a pang, an ache, a terrifyingly distant memory) the occasional weekend struggle of mortal friends hosting a party, to find a fake ID or an older sibling or someone to get some acid-bitter beer and sugary wine.

“Well,” Prudence had said, hands on her hips, a smile for Agatha and Dorcas. “We can obviously do better than _that_.”

It had taken longer than they had thought. Agatha and Dorcas hadn’t had much patience for the academic stuff, eventually wandering off and telling Prudence to summon them back when it was time for some actual casting. The day had stretched on for Sabrina and Prudence, the two of them up to their elbows in torn-off notebook paper, fingertips dark with charcoal as they crossed off method after method.

Sabrina is trying so hard, to get a handle on the Prudence thing. At _best_ , it’s dangerous. At worst, it could prove absolutely, literally fatal. But things like this don’t help at all— to be side by side with Prudence’s razor-sharp mind, her determination, her triumphant smile, the blaze of her unholy faith once she’d seized upon the idea that she could do this _better_ , she could do this for _Him_.

Sabrina is emphatically not doing this for Him. She’s just doing it because she likes working out puzzles. Likes the feeling that all problems can have a solution, if you just work hard enough. Even problems as low-stakes as creating a bottomless source for underage drinking.

Not that that’s a thing, for witches. But it’s the principle of it, anyway.

But anyway. Prudence. _Prudence_. She goes to Sabrina’s head faster than any wine ever could.

Though, okay. This wine had gone to her head _pretty_ fast.

“You’re not even listening to me,” Prudence complains, sliding over to kneel next to Sabrina, waving a hand in her face. Which is a little unfair, since Dorcas and Agatha have been giggling behind their hands to each other for _at least_ as long as Sabrina had been spacing out.

“Nope,” Sabrina says cheerfully, taking another quick sip of the heavy, smooth wine. “Because you’ve been giving the same speech on the false god and his followers and the wine and bread and fishes and the implications and the lies and the unreliability of mortal male authorship all _day_.”

She passes the chalice back to Prudence and flops back down to her back, savoring the warmth and delicately spiced taste of the wine, the way the grass tickles at her wrists and the backs of her arms, the brush of summer-sweet wind against her face.

“Well,” Prudence sniffs, takes a sip. “I still think we could try the fish thing.” She’s picked up a lock of Sabrina’s hair and has absently started twisting it around her finger. Sabrina’s can feel the motion as a gentle tug against her scalp, insistent and impossible to ignore.

“Mmmm,” Sabrina settles her hands over her stomach, willing them to behave and stay still, knitting her fingers together. “That sounds kind of gross. And smelly.”

“Important symbolic gestures of faith can’t be smelly,” Prudence says, apparently absorbed with the silver hair winding between her fingertips.

“Bet they can be.”

“Bet they can’t.”

“Well, I’m not going to conjure up an infinite pile of fish tonight,” Sabrina sighs, and is mortified to find that one of her hands has escaped from its place on her stomach and is brushing against Prudence’s side. Just the back of her hand, knuckles whisper-soft against the silky purple fabric, but it’s still something they were emphatically _instructed not to do_.

Prudence doesn’t appear to have noticed, but Sabrina absolutely knows better than to take that on faith.

“No?” Prudence asks, and having twisted Sabrina’s hair into a point is now using it to poke at Sabrina’s cheek. “What other plans do you have tonight, hmmm? Something terribly important?”

“Yes,” Sabrina says, her treacherous hand now fortunately occupied in trying to swat her own weaponized hair out of her face. “I’ll be very busy not smelling like a mountain of raw fish.”

Prudence laughs, that low and delighted sound that always, _always_ makes it sound like she knows more than you do, and whatever it is is absolutely delicious. Or dangerous. Probably both.

But she’s still poking at Sabrina’s face with her hair (Sabrina’s aim at swatting her off being inexplicably off at the moment). So Sabrina can only blame it on desperation, on the uncomfortable feeling of hair against her face and how close Prudence’s face is to hers, dark eyes bright above her, how that laugh is something Sabrina could absolutely and truly get drunk on, for what she does next.

Which is seize Prudence’s hand in both of hers.

Prudence blinks, and Sabrina mentally curses herself. Not like, _fuck you Sabrina Spellman you fucking disaster_ , she literally is running through all the hexes she knows (most of them picked up purely through hanging out with the Weird Sisters), trying to fix on the one that will blast her into oblivion in the shortest period of time.

“Maybe you have a point,” Prudence says eventually, just long enough that Sabrina has forgotten entirely what they were talking about.

“What?” Sabrina manages to ask, feeling slightly mesmerized by the look in Prudence’s eyes, the expression of both queen and conqueror, but with a light of wonder as though she still can’t quite _believe_ Sabrina.

“About the bread and fish. I’m busy tonight too, after all.”

 _Oh_. Doused by that bit of ice-cold water, Sabrina mentally attempts to shake herself by the shoulders, because what did she _expect_? That Prudence would just be happy to sit under this tree with her all night long, when they aren’t even _friends_ , don’t even _like_ each other, try to _murder_ each other every other week—

“Busy?” Sabrina asks, and is very impressed with herself for how casual it sounds, how she’s even able to spin a smirk on to her face as she says it.

“Oh yes,” Prudence says, eyes going wide in that terribly pios-model-witch way that she has, a way that _always_ makes Sabrina itch to pick a fight with her. “I’m afraid I’m quite booked up with _this_.”

And she leans in. And she kisses Sabrina.

Sabrina’s hands, still locked over Prudence’s, are pressed between them, the hammering of her own heart knocking against her fingers. Prudence’s mouth is soft, and warm, and when she opens her lips against Sabrina’s she makes a soft noise— of triumph, of surprise, Sabrina can’t be sure— and brings her free hand up to tangle tightly in Sabrina’s hair, tipping her head further back so she can get a better angle and make Sabrina _actually lose her mind_ god _Prudence_ —

There’s a squeal behind them, which is when Sabrina remembers that Agatha and Dorcas aren’t more than two feet away.

Prudence doesn’t really seem to register the noise, until Sabrina breaks away from the kiss, breathless, flushed, probably looking as wrecked as she feels. After a moment of looking down at Sabrina expressionlessly, taking her in, Prudence sends a scorching glare at her sisters.

“Run along now,” she says, an absolutely deadly purr. “Before I’m forced to tear you limb from limb.”

“We’re going, we’re _going_ ,” Dorcas laughs, pulling Agatha (who is making _very_ expressive hand gestures at the two of them) to her feet. “But give us a call if you need any help.”

“Yes, we’d be happy to, wouldn’t be any trouble,” Dorcas leers at the two of them before Agatha tugs her away, the two of them stumbling off between the trees.

Prudence has already dismissed them, attention focused again on Sabrina. “I think I can manage,” she says, running over Sabrina’s bottom lip with her thumb. If the state of Prudence is anything to judge by, Sabrina can guess that it’s at a smudge of lipstick, in a color several shades deeper than Sabrina would ever wear herself.

“You,” Sabrina says, her voice low and throaty, “are such a bunch of weirdos.”

Prudence laughs, and slides her hand back into Sabrina’s hair, long fingernails scratching lightly against Sabrina’s scalp.

“Well,” Prudence says. “We did get the name for a reason.”

“Guess I should’ve put that together,” Sabrina breathes, and tips her face back up to Prudence’s.

At some point, Sabrina accidentally knocks her elbow against the chalice, sending it spinning across the grass. They don’t even notice, though. Not for a long time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sabrina's just going to have to get used to the fact that Agatha and Dorcas are gonna be close by for roughly 95% percent of their makeout sessions, it's fine, she'll learn to love it. Potentially a lot, eyoo. 
> 
> (NO PAJAMAS!)


End file.
